Mother's Day
by A. X. Zanier
Summary: Darien decides to take up his former career, again.
1. Fateful Decision

  
  
Author: A. X. Zanier  
Rating: PG-13 (Language)  
Disclaimer: I do not own the characters or basic story ideas to 'The Invisible Man'. Any additional  
characters come from my very own fevered and warped imagination and are mine to do with as I please.  
So there. The character Dara Jarnell is from another story of mine, that has no relation to I-Man,  
where she appears in a slightly different form.   
Timeline: Shortly before 'Beholder'  
Spoilers: Pilot, L&L, C&M  
Comments: This was my first fic without my Alyx Silver character and I wrote it to meet a challenge  
that had been thrown down. Not bad for my first effort I must say.  
Orignal Post: 2/28/2001 @ yahoogroups.com IMFanfic  
  
Thanks to Rebecca(Workercaste) My brave Beta and overworked Beta reader.  
  
Mother's Day  
  
  
There was this 'wild' man with the name of Oscar who said, "The only way to get rid of temptation  
is to yield to it...I can resist everything but temptation."  
  
  
I've been tempted a lot in my life, and I'll admit it usually led me straight into trouble. Since  
coming to work for the Agency, I've resisted temptation more often than not.  
  
Good for me, I guess.  
  
But every once in a while something comes along that is too tempting to resist. Double fudge ice  
cream. The scantily-clad blonde on the beach. The one item that can take you home again.  
  
When it's put right in front of you, how can you not be tempted?  
  
  
  
You know, days like this always start out so normal. I was doing nothing more exciting than  
grabbing some breakfast on the way in to work when an ad in an almost-abandoned newspaper caught my  
eye. I picked it up off the table where it lay and walked away with it, after giving the former  
owner a wave of thanks. Have to admit I didn't really care if he protested; I was already reading  
the article and still walking down the street.  
  
Why couldn't this have happened a year ago? You know, before all this crap with the Agency? I'd had  
my chance at a similar piece once before, but at the time it had been a bit beyond my skills, and I  
hadn't wanted to get Liz involved with it. She would never have understood why I wanted it in the  
first place.  
  
And now...well, now I was more than a bit overqualified to take this item, but...  
  
Yeah, but.  
  
I folded the newspaper and stuffed it in my back pocket. I still had to get to work. Still had to  
deal with whatever crap the Official decided to dish out today.  
  
My mind wasn't really on work when I got there. I was thinking about other things, about my past,  
both recent and distant. Things that I hadn't allowed myself to think about for years. Things that  
had happened still way too recently. So recently that the painful reminders were still with me. But  
it had me contemplating a lot of things. Life, death -- a lot more about death than I usually  
prefer, but that was the way my life was running lately. So when I wandered into the Keep I didn't  
notice who was there at first. "Morning," I said as I sat down in one of the chairs.  
  
"Can I help you with something, Darien?" Claire sounded distracted, like I had walked in on  
something I maybe should not have.  
  
I looked up and focused on her. "Ummm. No? I just stopped in to say hi."  
  
"Well then, could you stop in some other time? I'm in the middle of something right now." Her tone  
was more than a little sharp.  
  
"Sure. No problem," I said, getting to my feet. "I'll just make sure to call first next time."  
  
Well, wasn't this just a fun day so far.  
  
Heading upstairs, I opened the door to the Official's office -- without knocking, as usual -- and I  
knew it was a mistake the moment I entered. They didn't even have to tell me to get out, and I was  
pretty damn sure I wanted no part of whatever was going on in there. I backed out the door without  
making a comment and made it around the corner of the hallway without being chased down by a  
yowling Eberts.  
  
You know, maybe I should have just stayed in bed today. I pulled the newspaper out of my back  
pocket as I walked to Hobbes' office and poked my head in the open door. "Hey, Hobbes. 'Sup?"  
  
"Oh, Fawkes. It's you." Not the most enthusiastic greeting I'd ever received, but the best one so  
far this morning. "I'm on my way out." Hobbes was putting on his jacket and then checked his gun.  
  
"Where we going?" I asked, leaning against the wall.  
  
"'We' are going nowhere. I have to go kiss some ass at the FBI offices." He made a face that  
showed just how pleased he was to be doing this. "Didn't you get the message?" Hobbes slid past me  
out the doorway and I followed him down the hall.  
  
"Machine's broken," I said.  
  
Hobbes gave me this look.  
  
I shrugged. "So I threw it across the room. I'll buy a new one later."  
  
"Well, you have the day off today. Don't waste it." Hobbes stepped out into the sunlight with me  
behind him.  
  
Tapping the paper into the palm of my hand I said, "Oh, I think I can find something to do."  
  
  
  
I stood across the street from the small auction house, arguing with myself. There was no harm in  
just looking, right? I wasn't committing myself to anything by just looking, was I? I crossed the  
street and climbed the steps to the entrance, casually noting the single camera focused on the  
front entrance and the security panel five feet down the hallway from the front door. Going in, I  
was greeted almost immediately. Just holding up the newspaper was enough for the gentleman to know  
why I was there; he escorted me to the room where the items to be auctioned were on display. He  
handed me a copy of the catalogue for the items and, after I assured him I needed no assistance,  
left me with several others who were also perusing the items on display.  
  
The item I was after was in a lot of a half dozen books, all to be auctioned as one set. Nothing  
most people would find spectacular, but it had meaning for me. Other items were worth more. Some of  
the jewelry was quite impressive and even real. Some of the silver would even be worth my time if I  
so chose.  
  
The security on the cases was pretty simple. Key locks and then internal motion sensors. Nothing I  
couldn't deal with. The room was wired with cameras and motion sensors, all tied into what I  
assumed was a silent alarm. I spent a few more minutes looking over the items in the room and  
pretending to make notes in the catalogue. As I was leaving, I casually looked about the interior  
of the building, noting where the wiring was inexpertly hidden or downright obvious, before heading  
outside to examine the exterior.  
  
I found the back door and discovered that the security was no more impressive back here. Motion  
light, camera, nice lock. It would take me thirty seconds, tops. Tricky part would be disabling the  
security alarm without the code, but there were ways around it. Walking back down the alley, I shook  
my head.  
  
Was I really going to do this?  
  
I still didn't know, but I knew I'd stop by later this evening to see what the security guard  
situation was like. Based on the number in there during the day, at night they probably only had  
one man who spent more time sitting on his ass trying to stay awake than he did walking around the  
building. It wasn't like this place was holding millions in collectibles. These were private estate  
collections being auctioned off, most likely by the children of the former owners because they  
either needed the money or didn't realize the value of the items.  
  
Value isn't always monetary.  
  
As I had told Liz not all that long ago, I missed this. Damn, I missed this. Sitting around in that  
heap of a van just did not compare to really casing a place. Okay, so certain of my new friends  
would probably not be very thrilled to discover what I was thinking of doing, but today I didn't  
care. My life was not about pleasing them. Hell, my life lately had been about playing good little  
solider for the Agency.  
  
When not doing a job, I showed up for my shots every Monday morning and listened to the Keeper tell  
me yet again that she still had made no headway in safely removing the gland. Not that the boss  
really wanted her to. Without me, without the gland stuffed in my head, the Official had nothing.  
He'd be right back where he'd been before he blackmailed me into working for him -- the nothing  
boss of a nothing agency. It would be in his best interest if the gland never came out.  
  
Bobby had become my friend, but he couldn't really understand. To him, having the gland would mean  
he could do his job better, serve his country, serve his boss, bow down and kiss some more  
government ass. He lived for that sort of crap. Not me. I had to learn to deal with it my own way.  
Bobby had his other life, as Mr. Textile himself. Me? Those nights I used to spend out now had me  
indoors -- reading, watching TV, improving my cooking. Shit. If I had as many friends as I  
currently had enemies...but I didn't.  
  
This was the one thing I'd always had for myself. I wanted it back.  
  
I had made my decision.  
  
After making a couple of calls and doing a little research online, I spent most of the afternoon  
asleep. I figured if the Fat Man really needed me for any reason, he could find me. I certainly had  
no need to find him. Would much prefer never to see him again.  
  
I wish.  
  
Actually I did, often -- wished this whole damn thing was some weird dream that I would soon wake  
up from. Somehow it never came true. I never woke up. Some days I was afraid that I'd never get  
away, that I'd always be the Fat Man's personal slave to fame. While he gained a rise in power and  
budget, I would acquire a resistance to the counteragent and regular visits to the padded room. Not  
my idea of a fun life.  
  
So maybe being a thief was not the best choice as an option, but at least it was my choice.  
  
I'll admit I began hanging out with Liz because it was nice to have someone paying attention to me  
for a change, instead of fawning over Kevin. The fact that she caught me breaking into her place  
had nothing to do with it. Well, not much anyway. If she hadn't caught me, things would have gone a  
lot differently. She had found it quite amusing. I was what, twelve, maybe thirteen at the time? I  
had already been breaking into places for a few months by then. School wasn't enough to keep my  
attention, and I had no interest in any of that after-school crap. Can you see me in band or on the  
football team? I was never really big on teamwork anyway.  
  
Until Liz.  
  
Like I was saying, she caught me red-handed going through her bureau, looking for something,  
anything of value besides the electronics which were a pain in the ass to carry around.  
  
  
  
She walked into the room, swinging her keys on her finger, and said, "Not bad kid. You beat my  
security to get in here."  
  
I might have been scared out of my mind at being caught, but I did my best to bluster my way out of  
it. She didn't buy a word of it.  
  
"Cool it, kid. If I was gonna turn you in I'd have done it already." She tossed the keys onto the  
bureau and walked past me into the room, taking a seat on the bed. She looked at me as if she were  
checking out an expensive item she was considering purchasing. "Kid, if you're really interested in  
learning the business, I might be persuaded to teach you."  
  
For a second I just looked at her in astonishment, but being the snotty little beast I was I copped  
an attitude. "Don't need no help. I'm doing just fine on my own."  
  
"Really?" She arched her eyebrows. "Then why were you pawing through my junk jewelry when you could  
have been breaking into the safe and been gone in half the time?"  
  
I got angry. As far as I was concerned I was doing pretty well all by myself. My anger found its  
way into my voice. "I don't need any more lectures. I get enough of those at home."  
  
"You're right, kid. A lecture ain't gonna do you a bit of good. So why don't you run home to  
Mama." She waved her hands at me, then got to her feet to escort me out. I balked. I wasn't ready  
to leave yet, and I certainly had no interest in going home.  
  
"Why? Why would you teach me?" I was still angry, but she had also made me a bit curious.  
  
"Like I said, you impressed me, kid." She led me out of the room, but not to the door. We ended up  
in the kitchen, where she got a can of soda for me. "What's your name anyway?"  
  
"Darien," I answered her.  
  
"Well, Darien. I think this is going to be the start of a profitable relationship." She raised the  
drink she had gotten for herself in toast.  
  
  
  
I hadn't thought about that night in years. Wondered if there was a reason I was thinking about it  
now.  
  
I'd been watching the auction house for about three hours, and I was pretty sure I had the guard's  
routine down. I'd been right in that there was only one. At the top of every hour, he left the  
small security room to check each of the display rooms and the main auction hall. He checked all  
three of the doors to the building, then returned to the security room to spend the rest of the  
hour dozing in front of a television. His rounds took about twenty minutes. I figured if I entered  
the back door just after he'd checked it, thus avoiding the rather noticeable opening of the door  
on the monitors, I'd have all the time I needed to get what I was after and get out. Which left me  
with a half hour to kill until he started his next set of rounds.  
  
I wandered down the street to a coffee shop and settled myself down to relax for a little while. It  
was difficult, though; I was looking forward to this. There is this sense of anticipation that  
happens before any job. There's that knowledge that you are doing the forbidden, that threat of  
getting caught, that thrill of success. Working for the Agency just wasn't the same.  
  
Okay, so the last time I tried to pull a job was less than successful. That'll teach me to be  
persuaded by an old friend, and I think I'll avoid doing work for mobsters in the future. This one  
was simple. There was no way there'd be a problem. No reason for anyone to get hurt.  
  
Checking my watch, I realized that I had killed enough time with my mental musings and needed to  
get myself into position for my grand entrance. I made my way to the back of the auction house and,  
after making sure the area was clear, I quicksilvered and headed to the back door. The guard was  
right on schedule. As I watched, he checked the door and then moved on.  
  
This I had practiced. Taking out my lock picks, I went to work on the door's lock. It had taken  
quite a bit of practice to master picking locks without being able to see either the lock picks or  
my hands. Or being able to feel the picks very well. It required an excellent sense of touch, but  
the quicksilver distorted it. Just one more thing I did on those long nights that I spent at home.  
In seconds, I had the door open and had slipped inside.  
  
Now I had to give the security system a code within thirty seconds or it would signal an intruder  
alarm. This was what one of my phone calls had been about. Security companies always had an  
override code for the systems they install, in case of a problem. I just called the company and  
made like an overworked employee who was having a really bad day and got the bottom feeder who  
answered the phone to give me the code. It's amazing what sounding cranky and irritated can get you  
if you do it right.  
  
I keyed in the code and watched as the system returned to normal status. Time was a-wasting. I  
didn't dare take too long or I'd have a tough time explaining all the quicksilver I had used. I  
made my way to the display room and was about to open the case containing my prize when I  
heard...something. I paused. It had sounded like a muffled shout.  
  
Liz may have been right in that I have more conscience than larceny sense, and there are indeed  
times I want to beat myself upside the head for it, but this was not one of those times. I was  
turning back to the lock, picks at the ready, when I heard the gunshot. Quickly followed by two  
more.  
  
This was not part of the plan.  
  
I don't know what I was thinking then. I should have just smashed the glass, grabbed the prize, and  
run, but no. I had to go see what the hell was going on. It was just my luck to find the security  
guard, quite dead, just outside the security room. He'd been shot at least twice.  
  
It was time for a strategic retreat. I took just enough time to notice that a couple of the other  
display rooms had been trashed, but I didn't pause any longer than necessary.  
  
'Aw crap' did not adequately describe the way the night was going.  
  
I got out the back door, up the alley, and back onto the street just as the first police cars  
arrived. Whoever else had been in there must have set off the alarm, because I sure as hell hadn't.  
I stepped into a nearby doorway and had to take several minutes calming myself before I could  
convince the flow of quicksilver to stop. That turned out to be too long. The police were  
everywhere by then. I apparently looked a bit too suspicious and was still a bit to close to the  
auction house to not be a generic suspect. Maybe it was the all-black ensemble. Or the fact that I  
was trying to casually hide in the doorway. In the end it didn't really matter.  
  
And this had started as such a normal day.  
  
You guys all know the routine right? Okay, so maybe not. Read my rights, handcuffed -- always fun  
for an evening -- and stuffed into a police car. They were not thrilled to find the lock picks.  
Even less thrilled when they discovered the dead security guard inside the auction house. They of  
course didn't believe me when I said I had nothing to do with it.  
  
You know, maybe I should give up this life of crime.  
  
Three jobs in a row now that were total screw-ups.  
  
Maybe someone is trying to tell me something.  
  
I spent some time dozing in the back of the cruiser while they decided what they were going to do  
with me. What else was I going to do? Until they either took me back to the station or let me go, I  
was stuck where I was. I wasn't all that surprised when I got that free ride to the police station  
and was left sitting in a small room with not much more than a table and two chairs. Oh, and one  
big-ass mirror. Like anyone doesn't know what they are for these days. Given my last experience  
with the police, I was expecting pretty much anything but a warm welcome. Most of these guys had at  
least a passing acquaintance with me, so the detective that finally came in to question me was quite  
a surprise.  
  
She -- yeah, I said she -- was about five-foot-ten with hair so dark it was nearly black, cut about  
chin length and tucked unceremoniously behind her ear on the right side. Waif thin, but obviously  
all muscle. She gave me the once over, and I discovered she had the most penetrating blue eyes I  
had ever seen. She glared down at me for a moment and then tossed a stack of papers on the table  
between us. "Well, Mr. Fawkes, seems you've decided to move up in the world yet again. Apparently  
molesting the elderly wasn't enough; murdering security guards is more your style now." She  
sounded rather exasperated with me.  
  
I opened my mouth to protest that I hadn't done anything, but she silenced me with a look. "Mr.  
Fawkes, I'm not a stupid person. I can read between the lines. You've never been caught with  
anything more dangerous than burglar tools. The 'molesting the elderly' rap was obviously a set-up  
of some sort, and you haven't even been seen jay-walking for the last year or so. Which shouldn't  
be surprising, given you were sentenced to life on a third strike violation. Yet here we are." She  
sat on the edge of the table and ran a hand wearily through her hair. "Just give me your partners'  
names and tell me where I can find them and this will move a lot faster."  
  
For a moment I just sat there stunned. At this point I'd be more than happy to turn over my  
accomplices. However, since I didn't have any, I was in a bit of a dilemma. I didn't think telling  
the truth would go over very well either, so I went with something in the middle. "Are you  
arresting me? 'Cause if you are, I'd like to make that phone call now." Not that I had any idea  
who to call. Although the chance that calling the Official might cause him a heart attack made me  
consider him for an instant.  
  
She looked at me for a long moment. "Why do I have the feeling that, although you know more than  
you are saying, you were not involved in this? At least, not directly?"  
  
"My honest face?" I quipped, then groaned at myself. There are days that I need a muzzle for my  
mouth.  
  
"Cute." She tapped the papers on the table. "I think it's more that it doesn't fit your style.  
Crude as that style may be."  
  
Crude? I think I was mortally wounded by that comment. "Just let me make that call, would you?"  
  
There was a tap on the glass. "I'll be back in a minute." She moved towards the door of the room.  
"Just out of curiosity, what do you do now?" She was standing in the open doorway.  
  
I debated for an instant and ended up going with the truth, figuring they'd never believe me  
anyway. "Federal Agent. Department of Fish and Game."  
  
She blinked at me and began to laugh. "Really? So what were you doing middle of downtown at one in  
the morning then?"  
  
I swear I didn't think, that the words just came from nowhere. I've definitely been hanging around  
Hobbes way to much. "Research on the habits of bats in the area." I shrugged. "There have been  
some complaints."  
  
She froze. With a completely calm look on her face, she nodded to me and left the room, shutting  
the door behind her. Then the laughter erupted.  
  
I was screwed. Shifting slightly, I leaned forward and whacked my head, none too gently, into the  
table top. No matter how many times I went through this, it never got any easier. I was so hoping  
we could get this settled without me having to see the inside of a cell. This room was bad enough.  
Add a bit of padding and it would be a twin of that happy place just down the hall from the Keep.  
Oh, jeez. I had the sudden fear that, even if I got out of here, the Official would be shoving me  
in that padded room just to teach me a lesson. I had forgotten how much I hated this part of being  
a thief.  
  
Getting caught sucks.  
  
  
  
"Well, what do you have to say for yourself?" Uncle Peter's voice had taken on that tone that I  
had learned to hate. I knew what was coming, and I knew that no matter what I said the lecture  
would still come. By now I could repeat it word for word. Had even done exactly that the last time.  
Not a good move as it turned out.  
  
So I shrugged and just hunched further down upon myself.  
  
He sucked in a deep breath in preparation, but nothing came out except a long, drawn-out sigh.  
"Darien, I'm not sure what's going on in that head of yours, but this is the last time I will  
protect you. The next time you get yourself into some sort of trouble, you and only you will have  
to deal with the consequences."  
  
I lifted my head in surprise to look at him. No lecture? No commentary about my relative value in  
comparison to Kevin? With me on the losing end, of course.  
  
"You're sixteen, Darien. You're smart and you obviously have skills." His tone was a bit wry at  
this point. "I've done what I could. But no more. The next time, I'll watch them shut the cell  
door. Maybe that's the only way for you to learn." I didn't know what to say. It was what I wanted  
-- to be left alone -- but at the same time I had been taking advantage of the fact that he'd kept  
sweeping it under the rug. Maybe he did care. Maybe it wasn't that Kevin was better, just different  
from me. Maybe...  
  
"Why can't you just be more like your brother?" Uncle Peter said, shaking his head.  
  
Maybe because I wasn't Kevin, and Uncle Peter could never seem to realize that.  
  
  
  
I heard Hobbes before I saw him. Muttering to himself as he paced the floor.  
  
"Hey, Hobbes," I said, trying to keep the mood light. It didn't work.  
  
"Fat Man's gonna love this. Why are we late? Well I had to..." His voice went to a shout at this  
point. "...bail my partner out of jail!" He smacked me on the back of the head. "What were you  
thinking? 'Oh, just steal a little piece. No one will even notice.' I thought you said you had  
'above average' intelligence."  
  
I turned to Detective Jarnell with a pitiful look on my face. "Can I just stay?"  
  
She tried unsuccessfully not to smile, but instead of answering me she spoke to Hobbes. "Should I  
leave the cuffs on, or do you have your own?"  
  
Thankfully she was unlocking them as she said this or I would have thought she was serious.  
  
"Don't tempt me," Hobbes said to her. He handed her a card. "If you need to contact me, or get a  
hold of wonder boy here."  
  
"I can assure you we will want to talk to him again," she said, handing him one of her cards in  
return. "And you," she said to me, "I think you know the routine."  
  
I nodded.  
  
"Good luck with him," she said to Hobbes, before turning to walk back towards her desk.  
  
I looked at my partner, who was glaring up at me. I opened my mouth to explain.  
  
He held up a hand. "Don't. Not now. Not one word. Or I'll personally see to it you are locked in  
the padded room and forgotten for a month."  
  
I said nothing. I'm guessing he was rather upset at me. The ride to the Agency was interesting  
anyway. Angry glares combined with dead silence. He walked me into the building and then down into  
the Keep without a word. Claire didn't look angry so much as disappointed.  
  
Boy, word had spread fast.  
  
She pointed at the chair and I went and sat in it without a word. I held out my arm, palm up,  
before she said anything.  
  
"A quarter full." She looked over at Bobby who was shaking his head.  
  
"So, what were you doing last night? And don't try the bat research bit with me." He paused  
tipping his head. "Pretty good one, that."  
  
"Bobby, don't encourage him." Claire sounded disgusted at this point. "Take him up. The Official  
is expecting you."  
  
I looked at her. "Do I hafta?"  
  
"My friend, don't even bother. The Fat Man isn't half as angry as she is." Hobbes had grabbed my  
arm and pulled me from the room.  
  
When the door shut behind us in the Official's office, I had the distinct impression of a knell of  
doom. And I had never heard one of those before, not even when they shut the cell door on my life  
sentence. Hobbes shoved me down into a chair and stood behind me, as if he was worried I was going  
to run. Eberts looked at me, shaking his head. Like he is so high and mighty. The Fat Man's little  
kiss-ass.  
  
The Official glared at me. For a moment, I was expecting the lecture my Uncle Peter used to give  
me, but instead he cleared his throat. "I would have thought your last experience would have taught  
you something, but obviously not. Now, without getting dramatic, could please tell us just what the  
hell happened?" He folded his hands on the desk. "We have no doubts you were there."  
  
What was I going to do? Yeah, lying did cross my mind, but considering I was a potential murder  
suspect it was probably a good idea to have the people who wanted me out of jail on my side. "I was  
there, but I didn't shoot that guard."  
  
"Tell us something we don't know," Hobbes said, coming around to stand by the desk. "Like who did."  
  
"I have no idea. I was about to grab what I was after when I heard the shots. I went to  
investigate, found the dead guard, saw the trashed rooms, and got the hell out of there." I  
slouched down in the seat a bit more. "The cops showed up and saw me just down the street. Hell, I  
would have picked me up just on principle."  
  
"So you have no idea what they were after?" the Official asked.  
  
I shook my head. "Like I said, I didn't see a thing."  
  
"The police are going to need something more than that," Eberts commented.  
  
"I think we'll be able to come to an arrangement with Detective Jarnell. She seemed willing to  
believe that Fawkes had nothing to do with the robbery and murder," the Official said. "Hobbes,  
take him home and get him cleaned up. Have him back by three o'clock." The Official glared at me.  
"Something will have been arranged by then."  
  
  



	2. The Right Thing

  
  
  
I probably should have expected the arrangement they came up with. At the time, though, I wasn't  
thinking much beyond food and grabbing a couple of hours of sleep before getting my next lecture on  
why my hobby of acquiring things by illegal means was not one that I should pursue while working for  
the Agency.  
  
I wasn't exactly repentant, was I?  
  
As we walked into the Official's office, only a couple of minutes late, Hobbes and I were joking  
about other potential excuses we could come up with if we were ever to find ourselves in a position  
similar to the one I had been in last night. One look at Detective Jarnell and I swallowed the next  
thing I was going to say. It was obvious that she had gotten very little, if any, sleep since I had  
last seen her and that she was not very happy at all to be here.  
  
"Mr....excuse me...Agent Fawkes, how kind of you to join us." Oh, no. Based on that tone of voice  
she was not happy at all. "It seems that you are off the hook for last night. I can't touch you  
even if you did kill that guard." She turned to glare at the Official.  
  
Then what was I doing here? My thoughts must have shown on my face.  
  
"Don't think you're getting off easy, Fawkes. You have just volunteered to help with her  
investigation. The sooner the real perpetrators are brought to justice the sooner your name can be  
officially be cleared," the Official said as he glared at me.  
  
So he was still angry.  
  
"But I didn't see anything," I protested.  
  
"Just because you didn't see anything doesn't mean you didn't see anything." Hobbes thought for a  
moment, then nodded his head. "Yup, that's what I meant to say."  
  
"Exactly," Detective Jarnell agreed. "We've checked the security tapes and have no evidence that  
you were ever there. However, any information you may have, however you may have acquired it, may  
be of use to the investigation."  
  
Okay, I could deal with this I guess. I sat down at the table. "Didn't the security cameras pick up  
the others?"  
  
"They used something to interfere with the camera signal. The moment they entered the room the  
cameras would lose the signal. When they left, the signal would come back," Eberts said.  
  
I nodded. It was a pretty simple trick to jam the camera signal, I'd done it myself on a couple of  
occasions. "Do you know what was stolen?"  
  
She slid a file across the table to me. "That is the preliminary list. The auction house will need  
a few days to verify, but that should be most of it."  
  
I ran over the list. Most of it was various pieces of jewelry, some silver pieces, most of it easy  
to fence at any of the places around town. Then something caught my eye, and I tapped a finger on  
one section of the list. "Ceramic statuettes?"  
  
"Yeah. We can't figure out that one either." She shrugged. "I'd say they thought they were pretty  
and took them spur of the moment, but I've seen photos. They were downright ugly."  
  
"This Thomas Marks, was the stuff his?" I wasn't quite sure where I was going with this but I had a  
vague hint of something.  
  
"No. He found the stuff in a house he had inherited from his grandfather," she answered. "Why?"  
  
I looked over at Eberts.  
  
"I'll get to work on it and see what I can find while you're gone," he said, moving over to the  
computer tucked away in the corner.  
  
Gone? Where was I going?  
  
"Where are we off to?" Hobbes asked for me.  
  
"The auction house, of course," the Official said. "You are going to offer your expert advice on  
the situation." He of course had to stress the word 'expert'. Why did I have the feeling he was  
going to make me pay for this for a long time to come?  
  
  
  
"All right, Agent Fawkes, walk me through what happened last night if you would." She stood with  
her hands on her hips and a wry smile on her face.  
  
"This is off the record, right?" C'mon, like I was going to risk my ass any more than I already had.  
  
She sighed. "Yes, it's off the record. Now get on with it, would you?"  
  
I led the way around to the back of the building and to the door there. "I got in through there.  
Picked the lock."  
  
She stared at me for a long moment. "I've reviewed the security tapes and unless you can...." she  
trailed off. "Never mind. Just run through it." She opened the door and waved us inside. As I  
passed I could hear her muttering, "When the only thing left is the impossible, that must be the  
answer." From Sherlock Holmes and I had to resist the urge to laugh. If she only knew.  
  
I led them through what I had done last night. Disabling the alarm. Going to the room where my  
prize was. Hearing the shout and then the gunshots. How I discovered the guard's body and then beat  
a hasty retreat out of here.  
  
She was nodding to herself and making notes in a notebook that had appeared in her hand at some  
point. "That explains the alarm resetting itself. It had gone off five minutes before you even came  
in. The security company couldn't figure out how it had been shut off."  
  
Hobbes looked at me. "Do I want to know how you got the override code for the system?"  
  
"I don't know, do you?" I was smiling as I said it.  
  
"Not now. You really have to learn to channel your energy in a safer direction." For all that he  
was complaining, he still sounded impressed.  
  
We were standing a bit too near the taped outline of the dead guard. The bloodstains were still  
evident in the rug and on the walls. I knew I was fidgeting, but couldn't stop myself. "How did  
they get in?"  
  
"They used the delivery entrance off the main auction hall downstairs." She led the way. "We can't  
figure out how they set off the alarm. You figure if they knew about the cameras they would know  
about needing a reset code."  
  
"Why didn't they just cut the system from the outside?" Hobbes asked.  
  
"They couldn't," I said. They both looked at me. "The system is designed to send an alarm if the  
power is cut." I shrugged.  
  
"Are you sure he's on your side?" the detective asked Hobbes.  
  
"After last night, I'm beginning to wonder," Hobbes replied looking at me.  
  
I had wandered over to the double doors that led to the small loading dock. It was on the side of  
the building, where the small employee parking lot was also located. There was a storage area  
between the doors and the actual auction hall. I examined the area and discovered something that  
was obviously a new addition to the system. It wasn't much, just another motion sensor, but it was  
in the doorway between the auction hall and the storage area. I pointed this out to Detective  
Jarnell.  
  
"You're right. It is new. Or so the owners tell me. Had some drivers with sticky fingers,  
apparently." She looked over the system. "If they cased the place before it was installed, they  
just might not have noticed it. Not bad. My guys missed it."  
  
She waved for us to follow and led us back upstairs into the rooms that had been trashed. Other  
than a quick going-over to see what was missing, nothing had been cleaned up yet. The items that  
had been left behind still lay where they had been knocked or tossed carelessly to the side. The  
room the jewelry had been stolen from was a total mess, with cases smashed and ransacked. Even the  
cases nothing had been taken from were shattered, and it just didn't feel right. The other room,  
where the statuettes had been, was almost neat in comparison. Oh, the cases had been smashed here  
as well, and the unwanted items tossed about a bit, but it looked almost staged.  
  
Hobbes noticed it as well. "It's too neat in here."  
  
"I noticed that too," Jarnell said. "What I couldn't figure out was why." She was standing to one  
side, allowing me a chance to really look at the room.  
  
Walking towards the cases, I crunched on something and looked down. It was a portion of one of the  
statuettes. Bending down, I picked it up. The piece wasn't large, but it did tell me that, beyond  
being cheap and ugly, the things had been hollow. "What if what they were after wasn't the statues  
themselves?"  
  
"What? Like they were hollow or something?" Hobbes said taking the piece from me. "So the rest was  
cover? What about the guard?"  
  
"Maybe he was in on it, but chickened when the alarm was set off. Maybe it was just bad timing. His  
routine was easy to learn, but if they screwed up he might have discovered them." I shrugged. "Who  
knows?"  
  
"I thought of the hollow bit," Jarnell said. "But what would be inside? These things have been  
sitting around a basement for the last fifty years."  
  
"Don't know, but I think it's time we find out what Eberts has dug up for us." I dropped my hands  
to my sides. "We can pick up dinner on the way. I'll buy."  
  
"Food and information. My two favorite things in the world," she said with a genuine smile. "Call  
me Dara."  
  
"Darien," I said. "But you knew that already."  
  
"Yo, you two. This ain't no date. Can we maybe catch the perps before you two hop in bed?" Hobbes  
said with a hint of irritation.  
  
He had nothing to worry about. The thought hadn't even come close to crossing my mind. Though  
knowing Hobbes and where his mind sinks to on a regular basis, it had crossed his. In several  
different and creative ways. Gutter for a mind, that's my Bobby Hobbes.  
  
We took over the Official's office. I know what you're thinking -- that we sat around eating pizza,  
or Chinese, or maybe Italian. You'd be wrong. We ate Thai. Her choice. Dear God, the woman must have  
been a dragon in a previous life. A fire-breathing one. Damn. But she just smiled and watched as we  
gulped down the beer trying to keep our tongues from spontaneously combusting.  
  
"This is nothing. I ordered the mild." She looked about the room. "Do I want to know why you guys  
work for Fish and Game?"  
  
"Anonymity," said Eberts. He was still at the computer, but was finally printing something.  
  
"It was their turn," Hobbes added.  
  
"Pity," I said.  
  
She just shook her head. "Makes me glad I'm just a cop." Getting to her feet, she walked to where  
the computer was busy spewing out reams of paper. "What do you have for me, Mr. Eberts?"  
  
Hobbes and I looked at each other. "Mr. Eberts?" we said simultaneously.  
  
"Do you actually have a first name, Eberts?" I asked, simply to see what he would say.  
  
"Yes, I do. But it's..." I cut him off.  
  
"Let me guess, 'need to know'?" I couldn't resist, and beside me Hobbes snorted.  
  
"Not bad, Fawkes."  
  
Eberts just rolled his eyes. "Do you want to know what I found or not?"  
  
"Depends. Is it going to be of any use whatsoever?" Once I start shit like this, I find it very  
difficult to stop.  
  
"Are they always like this?" Dara asked Eberts.  
  
"I'm afraid so." He began to organize the papers from the printer. "And this is just the  
preliminaries. Wait till they get really childish."  
  
"Hey, I think I should be insulted," I commented. "But luckily I'm too childish to care."  
  
"Lighten up, Eberts." It's amazing the contortions Hobbes can put Eberts' name through.  
  
"As impressed as I am by this pre-teen macho bonding, I do have a job to do and would like to get  
it done," Dara said, a good deal of irritation finding its way into her voice.  
  
I actually felt a bit repentant. "Sorry. What have you got for us, Eberts?"  
  
Eberts leaned back against the Official's desk and thumbed through the printouts for the page he  
was looking for. "Thomas Marks inherited the house from his grandfather, a Daniel Masters, Jr. His  
father was a police officer back in the twenties. Was also known as..."  
  
"Dirty Dan. Or Diamond Dan," Dara said with a sigh. "Damn, thought those rumors had been cleared up  
years ago."  
  
I raised my hand. "Ummm... Huh?"  
  
She sat down on the end of the table. "Back in the twenties, Danny Masters was rumored to be the  
dirtiest cop in town. You had the cash, he'd let anything slide. And I do mean anything."  
  
"But no one could ever prove the corruption," Eberts continued. "Witnesses would recant, or  
mysteriously disappear."  
  
"He means they were popped," Hobbes leaned over to inform me.  
  
I looked at him. "I know what he means, Hobbes."  
  
"Eventually he became Police Commissioner and took an early retirement at...shit." She turned to  
Eberts.  
  
"Forty-five. And the money he had supposedly taken in bribes was never found," Eberts filled in.  
  
"Why 'Diamond Dan'?" Hobbes asked.  
  
"There were rumors he had converted all the cash to diamonds or that he preferred to be paid that  
way. The rumors varied." Dara answered.  
  
My mind was spinning. "How much money?"  
  
Eberts checked the printout. "Estimates range between fifty and a hundred thousand, but no one  
really knows. Oh, and that's before converting it to today's value."  
  
Hobbes whistled. "That's quite a chunk of change for back then."  
  
"Well yeah. I think that was the point," I said to Hobbes. "What did he do with it?"  
  
"Probably buried it in coffee cans in the back yard," Hobbes commented. Always fast on his feet,  
our Hobbsey.  
  
Dara groaned. "Bet he wasn't called Diamond Dan for nothing." She turned to Eberts.  
  
He nodded to her. "It's possible."  
  
"The statuettes," I said. "Filled with diamonds." This was a perfect time for someone to say 'aw  
crap'.  
  
"No shit?" Hobbes said.  
  
Close enough.  
  
"So who would know about this Diamond Dan? The whole department?" Hobbes was finally getting into  
this.  
  
Dara thought for a moment. "Some of the older cops would, and might have told their kids. I know  
because my family has been cops forever and it's just one of those stories that got passed down."  
  
"The real question is, who would know about Daniel Masters, Sr. and know Thomas Marks was his  
great-grandson?" I tossed that little tidbit out into the room and watched it fall to the floor  
with a thud.  
  
"I'll get on it," Eberts said and turned back to his computer.  
  
"Don't forget to check out the people at the auction house. They're the experts, after all," Hobbes  
added.  
  
"Good thinking," Dara said, then yawned. "How long?"  
  
"I'll definitely have something for you by morning. Say nine. Meet back here?" Eberts had turned  
back around to look at her.  
  
"More than adequate. Well, guys, it's been fun, but Morpheus calls. And I have to stop in at the  
station first." She picked up the printouts and walked to the door. Hobbes jumped to his feet and  
offered to escort her to her car, which she accepted. It was looking like maybe it was Hobbes who  
was fishing for a date.  
  
"Eberts. You can really have something by morning?" I got to my feet and moved over behind him.  
  
"Of course. I'm just going to set the parameters for the search engine and then let the computer do  
the work." He turned in his chair to look up at me. "I should have quite bit to work with when I  
arrive at seven."  
  
"You actually sleep?" I was only joking with him and he seemed a bit surprised. He was a kiss-ass,  
but I didn't hate him or anything. "Thanks for your help."  
  
"You're welcome. Now I suggest you go home and get some sleep. I do still have work to do." Yup,  
moment of uncomfortable male bonding was over.  
  
I took the hint and, after giving the table a quick cleanup from the remains of dinner, headed out  
of the office to find Hobbes.  
  
"G'night, Eberts."  
  
"Good night, Darien."  
  
Damn. I guess the ice was thawing.  
  
I paced restlessly about my apartment for a while, not really ready to settle down and sleep yet  
and not really interested in going out. So, as usual, I ended up thinking about my life. What I  
could have done to avoid where I was now, even though I knew I couldn't change anything. I kept  
thinking that if I could find that one moment in my life where this path became irrevocable, where  
my current path became inevitable, where I faced that crossroad and chose the path that brought me  
here, that maybe, just maybe, I could find some sense of peace within myself. With my life as it  
now was.  
  
I considered and rejected dozens of different possibilities and kept coming back to one incident in  
particular. And, unsurprisingly, it involved Liz. Why is it some of my...best isn't quite  
right...most interesting experiences, as well as some of my worst, involve Liz?  
  
  
  
"Kid, trust me. Just follow the plan like I've said and we'll be in and out with no problem."   
Liz was starting to sound irritated, but I really didn't like the idea of robbing this place.  
  
"You're sure? I mean, c'mon they've got to have really good security." I just had to push her one  
more time.  
  
"Kid, either you're in or you're out." She pointed back towards the road.  
  
I gave in. Like I always did. "I'm in."  
  
So I followed the plan. Picked the lock on the French doors. Cleaned out the safe in the bar while  
she went for the safe in the main office. Simple. According to Liz they hadn't updated the security  
at this place in a decade. Yet I was the one who noticed the brand spanking new keypad a few feet  
down from the door I had opened. With the blinking red lights. Too bad I noticed after I had  
cleaned out the safe.  
  
"Aw, crap." I said this under my breath. Now I had a choice. Book it and hope for the best, or  
warn Liz and hope we both made it. I waffled for only a minute before heading for the office. Liz  
was whistling through her teeth as she pulled cash out of the safe in there.  
  
"They upgraded the alarm system and we set it off," I hissed at her.  
  
"What?" she snapped at me.  
  
Bringing what she had grabbed, she followed me back out and I showed her.  
  
"Aw, crap," she echoed my words. "Run, kid. We'll meet up later."  
  
Well, later was all of ten minutes. The cops caught us without much trouble. Not too difficult when  
they had practically surrounded the place before we even walked out the door.  
  
  
  
You know, I never regretted going back and warning her. Shame I didn't know she wouldn't do the  
same for me. Honor among thieves is a load of crap. When push comes to shove it's everyone for him  
or her self.  
  
Uncle Peter was true to his word. Although he did come to see me and made sure I had adequate  
representation, he did nothing else. That time I ended up in Juvenile Detention for six months.  
When I got out, I was three months away from turning eighteen. To me that was three months from  
freedom. Or so I thought.  
  
Maybe that's why I don't believe the words 'trust me'. Liz used to use them all the time to  
convince me to do something, usually something I was dead set against, and it always worked. It  
usually got me into trouble. So now when I hear 'trust me,' I balk. You get beaten down enough  
times and it eventually sinks in. So not trusting, especially when those words are uttered, is now  
a habit and a damned hard one to break I was finding out.  
  
I was trying. Really, I was, but given the circumstances...I'll just have to keep trying, now won't  
I?  
  
I finished off another beer and decided I had thought enough for one evening. It was an early day  
tomorrow, and looking to be an interesting one at that. Maybe, just maybe, things weren't quite as  
bad as I tried to make them out to be.  
  
Hobbes picked me up at eight thirty. He still had baby-sitting duty; apparently they were worried I  
was going to make a mad dash for freedom or some other such nonsense. Now, while I can't say I had  
learned my lesson, I had no current plans to run off and do anything excessively stupid. Not today  
anyway. He escorted me down to the Keep, where Claire went through the daily poke and prod routine  
to make I had been a good boy and not used more quicksilver than I should have. Then she began the  
same old lecture about responsibility and using the quicksilver. I stopped her before she got very  
far into it.  
  
"Claire, do you know what the problem is with repetitive lectures?"  
  
She gave me this annoyed look. "I'm sure you'll tell me."  
  
"After a while, the person you're lecturing to stops listening." I slid off the chair. "We done?"  
  
She tapped her foot on the floor. "Yes, Darien we are most definitely 'done'."  
  
I knew I had made her angry, or something akin to it anyway. Maybe she hadn't realized she was  
lecturing, or that she was doing it as often as she was, but she was starting to remind me of my  
Uncle Peter. Given that he had not been a very good looking blonde, I really didn't need that  
comparison floating in my mind. I was beginning to like Claire, trust her a bit even. I didn't need  
past family issues interfering with that.  
  
I managed to drag my mind off of that topic and refocus it on the matter at hand before I walked  
into the Official's office. Everyone was already there, waiting for me. Not that I was late, but  
everyone was anxious to get this resolved. I took a seat at the table next to Hobbes, noting the  
slide projector and screen had been set up. Eberts had been a busy boy again.  
  
"I guess this means you have something."  
  
"You're gonna love this, partner," Hobbes commented.  
  
"Indeed." Eberts closed the blinds over the windows and then settled back by the slide projector.  
"With the help of Detective Jarnell, we were able to narrow the list of potential suspects to six,  
several of whom already have records." He clicked through the photos he had retrieved, showing  
four different kids. The oldest was maybe sixteen.  
  
Damn. Can you say flashback?  
  
One of the kids was the grandson of the auction house manager. Another was the son of a police  
officer who, at a guess, was rebelling against the family tradition of being cops. Dara said she  
knew the family and that the kid was a total beast. He'd been in and out of trouble for years  
already and was more than capable of breaking into the auction house just for the hell of it. The  
other two were known accomplices to the cop's son and had been caught with him before.  
  
Between the two of them they rattled off a rough version of the kids' records. None of them had  
anything really violent beyond a couple of fights here and there. Nothing major. The cop's  
son...shit, the kid could be me. But something about the situation didn't sit right with me.  
  
"C'mon, even if the kid from the auction house knew the other three, the likelihood that they put  
all the puzzle pieces together is, like, zero. There has to be an adult involved," I said shaking  
my head. "I don't think any of these kids is capable of killing that guard. They're petty thieves,  
not gang-bangers."  
  
"We figured that. This job was a bit above what these kids would normally be after. I think they  
found themselves a mentor," Dara said. "Eberts found two possibilities."  
  
The picture on the screen changed to show a split shot. One was a small-time thief I recognized.  
"Harry Devers," I said aloud.  
  
"Old friend of yours?" Hobbes asked, the sarcasm evident in his voice.  
  
"Know him by rep only. Old as God himself, so I could see him, maybe, remembering about 'Dirty  
Dan', but he was never one to give away his secrets. And I know he hates dealing with gadgets.  
Highly unlikely he'd use a jamming device for the cameras. Can of spray paint would be more his  
style." By the time I was finished everyone was staring at me.  
  
"Sometimes you scare me, my friend." Hobbes had this look of utter dismay on his face.  
  
Like it was a big deal. I had been thief for most of my life. Why was it such a big surprise that I  
knew a few others who were also in the business?  
  
"He's right, though. It's not Harry's style. Especially not the killing. He may be a thief, but  
he's no killer," Dara added. "But he was a possibility. What about her?" She waved at the screen.  
  
Her I didn't know. Early thirties, light brown hair, pale blue eyes. Not bad looking, but  
definitely hard. She'd obviously been in the business for a while, but I had never seen her before.  
Different circles, perhaps. "Sorry, don't know her."  
  
Dara didn't seem too surprised. "She's fairly new to the area, but has a rep in L.A. and San  
Francisco. She does like her gadgets and has been known to use locals for partners, usually leaving  
them to get caught. She has allegedly killed on two other occasions, but it's never been proven."  
  
"But how would she know about the diamonds and everything? Just getting into town and all?" Hobbes  
asked.  
  
"If she does indeed have a connection to the kids, that might be enough. A little research and she  
could piece it together the same way I did," Eberts put in.  
  
"A lotta ifs there." Hobbes pretty much spoke for the whole room.  
  
"But worth checking out," Dara said, getting to her feet. "I'll make arrangements for the kids to  
be picked up after school gets out. I think we should pay a visit to Miss Halder."  
  
Hobbes got to his feet as well. "You can use my office," he offered.  
  
She nodded and followed him out of the room. I was drumming my fingers on the table, thinking, as  
Eberts began to dismantle the equipment and open the blinds.  
  
"Is there something I can help you with?" he asked me.  
  
"Yeah, a copy of the cop kid's record." I sounded a bit distracted.  
  
I don't know what he thought I was thinking, and I really didn't care, but he handed it over to me  
without a single question. I stood up, skimming over it, and gave him a mumbled thanks as I left  
the room. I wasn't quite sure why I wanted it, other than the fact that the kid reminded me of  
myself. Maybe I thought I could do something. I don't know why, but I felt a connection to this kid.  
  
Checking out Diane Halder's address was a bust, so Dara left a couple of suits to watch the place  
and we switched our focus to the kids. They all went to the same school, so picking them up was  
easy. I can safely say it was odd to be walking into the police station without wearing handcuffs,  
to be one of the goods guys, to be the one bringing in a prisoner and not being the prisoner  
myself. And I think I kind of liked it.  
  
The kids were separated and their parents called. Two of them, including the one related to the  
auction house manager, spilled what they knew almost immediately. The third lasted until his  
parents arrived and then told everything he knew. It was that last kid -- Roger Jansen, the cop's  
son -- who was the tough nut to crack. And he was the one the other three said knew where our Miss  
Halder was hiding out until the brouhaha blew over.  
  
When his father, Officer Jansen, showed up, I recognized him. Not a big surprise; I had a passing  
acquaintance with quite a few officers in this town. The man looked like he was either going to  
kill the kid or himself, and I knew that look. Had seen it on my Uncle's face a time or two.  
  
He saw me and recognized me after a moment. It had been a couple of years after all.  
  
"Darien Fawkes. Why am I not surprised to find you mixed up in this?" Now he just sounded tired.  
  
I was going to answer but Dara came to my rescue. "Officer Jansen, I'm Detective Jarnell, this is  
Agent Fawkes. He has been assisting me on this case."  
  
Jansen looked like he was going to begin laughing hysterically, but swallowed it when he realized  
she was serious. "So, what put you on the straight and narrow, Fawkes?" he asked when he found his  
voice again.  
  
"Lets just say it was my brother's influence." I nodded towards his son in the other room. "I'd  
like to talk to him if you'll let me."  
  
"Talk...I've given up talking. This has gone too far. He's involved with a murder, for God's  
sake." It was obvious that he loved his son, but was at his wits end for what to do.  
  
"I've been there," I said. "It can't hurt to let me talk to him."  
  
He thought for a moment, looking at me. Untucked shirt, leather jacket, pair of khakis. Looking  
like I always did. I wondered what he saw. To him I was still just a punk that somehow lucked out  
of his life sentence. Of course he didn't know I had traded one life sentence for another, but it  
didn't matter. He must have seen something, because he nodded.  
  
"You're right. At this point it can't hurt."  
  
I didn't give him a chance to change his mind and moved to enter the room. Roger glared up at me  
when I shut the door. He just oozed bad attitude.  
  
"You ain't no cop," he snapped. "I ain't got to talk to you." It was like looking in a mirror. I  
could easily see myself where this kid was, copping the same 'to hell with the world' attitude and  
thinking I knew more than everyone around me.  
  
"You're right, I'm not a cop. I'm a Federal Agent." That got his attention for a second, but only  
for a second. "And I don't want you to talk. I want you to listen." I sat down across from him and  
watched as he made a point of looking anywhere but at me.  
  
Where do I begin? "If you think she's going to show up and save you, you're wrong." He stiffened  
for an instant, then returned to his previously scheduled slouch. "She doesn't give one dead rat's  
ass for you. She just wants the prize, and she has that. She'll gladly let you take the fall for  
her."  
  
The kid was looking at me now. A little surprised. He had probably been expecting the same lecture  
he always got, just with a new voice parroting it at him.  
  
"What the hell would you know about it?" he snarled at me.  
  
"Everything," I shouted. That was the wrong tactic and I calmed myself. "I know because I've been  
in the same damn position. I got caught and she didn't. I waited for her to come get me. She bailed  
with the cash. I took the rap. Did my first real jail time. I can assure you it was not  
enjoyable." The kid was listening to me now and I think there was touch of fear showing in his  
eyes.  
  
"She wouldn't do that," he hissed.  
  
"In a heartbeat. Don't kid yourself. This is a murder rap you're facing. Do you really think she's  
going to waltz in the door and say she did it to save your sorry little ass?" I gave that a moment  
to sink in. "Liz bailed on me over a few thousand in jewelry. Do you really think Diane isn't going  
to do the same?"  
  
That did it. The kid looked scared. "She'd let me take the fall? But I didn't do nothin' but smash  
some cases and take some of the junk. I ain't taking the fall for popping that guy." The words  
just poured out of his mouth. He'd gone from punk-with-attitude to  
scared-kid-in-way-over-his-head in record time.  
  
Behind me, the door to the room opened and Dara and Officer Jansen came in. After a moment of  
shared glaring the kid caved. His father went to him and gave him a hug. They started talking  
quietly and it was a good bet they'd work something out.  
  
Dara set a hand on my shoulder. "Good work."  
  
"Thanks, I guess." I got to my feet and we left the room, giving the father and son a few minutes  
to be alone.  
  
"You guess? You do realize you might have just put that kid's life back on the right track?" She  
seemed to be surprised that I didn't see it that way.  
  
I ran a hand through my hair and rubbed the back of my neck. "I just did what seemed right. No big  
deal."  
  
"Smart, cute, and modest. Makes me wonder why you ever became a thief." She was smiling and a bit  
more relaxed. "I'll give them a couple minutes and then see if the kid is willing to tell us what  
we need."  
  
I walked over to Hobbes, who was hitting on the poor receptionist. He had been with one of the  
other kids during his questioning and they must have finished.  
  
"Hey, Hobbes. Leave the nice lady alone." I had stopped behind him.  
  
"Fawkes. Bet it's nice to know you're off the hook. It was the manager's grandson who screwed up  
the info on the security system and he admitted that Halder killed the guard." He straightened his  
coat. "We're done."  
  
"Uh, Hobbes," I said. He was going to think I was nuts.  
  
"Yeah, partner?" He was giving me the eye.  
  
"I think I'd like to stick this one out to the end. Make sure she gets brought in." I was  
fidgeting again, but couldn't stop myself  
  
"Displaced revenge issues, huh?" He nodded knowingly. "Sure. Why not. Kill the rest of the  
afternoon."  
  
Displaced revenge issues? It took me a moment to figure out what he meant by that, but I did  
eventually. You know, I can't say he was wrong. Liz had left and I had gotten screwed big time.  
Catching Diane Halder would kind of make up for it in a way, and maybe then these kids wouldn't  
spend a good portion of their lives wondering where the hell they went wrong and why the one person  
they trusted the most ran just when they were most needed.  
  
Maybe I had done some good after all.  
  
It took a bit longer than we all liked to convince the kid to tell us where she was hiding. What is  
it with bad guys that they always have to hide out in old warehouses?  
  
"Why is it always warehouses?" Hobbes asked aloud, echoing my thoughts.  
  
Dara turned to him. "Happens to you guys a lot too, huh?"  
  
We both nodded.  
  
"Do we even know she's in there?" I was getting a bit bored with this sitting around and waiting  
crap.  
  
"She was seen going in an hour ago. We're just waiting on the damn warrant." Dara was just as  
impatient as the rest of us at this point.  
  
"So Fawkes, I'm curious. What were you after in that auction house? Even I could see there wasn't a  
whole lot of value in there." Hobbes had this gleam in his eye. Like he was getting ready to laugh  
when I answered.  
  
I thought for a moment and then gave him the most accurate answer that wasn't an actual answer.  
"The past, Hobbes. My past."  
  
He didn't understand, but then again he wasn't really supposed to.  
  
Dara opened the door to the van and climbed out as a sedan pulled up beside us. After a quick  
discussion she turned back to us. "We got it. Back-up is on the way."  
  
"Fawkes can go in and check it out while we wait on them," Hobbes said, moving to the back of the  
van and getting the equipment ready.  
  
"I can?" I figured the police could handle it from here.  
  
"Yeah, you can. Just in case she has any surprises. She might know we're coming." Hobbes said as  
he handed me the headset.  
  
I casually glanced at my wrist and figured I was good for about fifteen minutes before any trouble  
started. I should be able to get in and do a quick recon and still have enough time left. "You  
might want to call Claire and have her on standby."  
  
He nodded. "Will do. Gives me an excuse to talk to her." He wiggled his eyebrows up and down and I  
rolled my eyes. "I'll tell her to bring it here."  
  
"Is there something I'm missing?" Dara asked from the doorway.  
  
"I just get a special treat when I'm extra good," I said as I slid out of the van past her. "Like  
the well trained pup that I am."  
  
She shook her head with a smile. "All Feds are weird. I really got to remember that."  
  
It was just past sunset, not quite full dark yet, so I did my best to keep out of sight as I  
approached the building. The door wasn't locked, but was stuck and I had to shove it open with my  
shoulder. After a quick check I entered.  
  
"I'm in," I said into the headset.  
  
"Got that." Hobbes voice was tinny through the ear piece.  
  
I was in the main warehouse area and it was pretty bare. Across the open expanse were the offices.  
I could just make out some light shining through the dusty glass. I had made it about half way  
across when the first gun shot rang out. I dove to the floor and quicksilvered, but didn't stay  
there. Better to keep moving.  
  
"Fawkes, what the hell is happening in there?" Hobbes shouted in my ear.  
  
"A hot date." Sometimes he was a bit more thickheaded than I can stand. "She's shooting at me. She  
must have had a camera rigged that I missed."  
  
"We're coming in. See what you can do to keep her busy." Hobbes said.  
  
Keep her busy. How, by playing target?  
  
Not that bad of an idea, I realized. There were assorted pieces of junk in here. I picked one up  
and tossed it across the floor. As I expected, she fired at the sound. I got up and moved closer to  
the place she was hiding.  
  
There was a dispatch office off to one side and I could see her moving around within. I picked up  
something else at random and tossed it as well. She braced her hands on the ledge of the window and  
fired. I at least got enough of a look this time to see that it was indeed Diane Halder shooting at  
me. As quietly as I could I made my way to the office, picking up one more piece of junk on the way.  
  
Hunkering down beneath the ledge I tossed the item out into the darkened room and when the gun  
barrel appeared above me I grabbed it and pulled. Maybe not the best move. The gun fired as I  
yanked it and the bullet hit the cement several feet in front of me , ricocheting off into the  
room. It wasn't until later that I realized that, without the quicksilver, I probably would have  
burned my hands on the barrel when it fired.  
  
I desilvered and stood up, pointing the gun at her. "Federal Agent. I have a warrant for your  
arrest."  
  
She gave me a look of mixed anger and surprise, but put up her hands like a good girl. The cavalry  
arrived moments later and she was patted down and handcuffed.  
  
"Not bad, Fawkes. How are we doing?" Hobbes came up next to me.  
  
I turned my wrist over. Only two segments remained green. "That would explain the headache."  
  
"The Keep's on her way," Hobbes said, looking over at Detective Jarnell. She'd just finished  
questioning Halder, unsuccessfully by the look on her face.  
  
"Spread out and search the place. I want those statuettes found even of they are in pieces." She  
was sounding a bit irritated.  
  
I elbowed Hobbes. "Come on." He followed me into the offices, which were pretty much bare. Several  
uniformed cops were searching the rooms as well. I was looking for one room in particular, and after  
a few minutes I found it.  
  
"What, Fawkes? This room looks just like all the rest," Hobbes stated.  
  
"Look again." I was searching the walls, looking for what I knew should be here.  
  
"Hey, it's clean in here. No dust bunnies attacking my ankles." Hobbes was staring at the floor  
wondering why he hadn't noticed before.  
  
I finally found what I was looking for. It was set close to the floor, which was atypical. I  
depressed the catch and a section of the wall popped open, revealing a hidden safe.  
  
"How'd you know that was there?" Hobbes asked. Then he shook his head. "Never mind."  
  
"Let's see how out of practice I am." The sucker had a combination lock, and I used to be able to  
do these by feel, but like any skill it gets a bit rusty if you don't keep in practice. It took me  
three tries, but I got it.  
  
"Jackpot." Okay, so it was an overused saying, but appropriate I thought. It looked like our girl  
had traded the crappy statuettes for some updated models. These were actually decent looking if you  
liked fairies and gnomes.  
  
My head was starting to really hurt now. "How long till the Keep gets here?"  
  
Hobbes checked his watch. "Five. Tops."  
  
I nodded and lifted one of the gnomes up. Dara came in with another officer then. "Shall we see  
what's inside?"  
  
"Do it." she said.  
  
I hit the bottom edge of the gnome on the wall, cracking the base, then finished it with my hands.  
I found a tightly rolled tube of plastic inside and slid it out. Sitting down on the floor, I  
sliced the plastic open with the knife Hobbes handed to me. I looked up at him with a lifted  
eyebrow and he just shrugged.  
  
"Like a boy scout. Always prepared." My god, Hobbes made a joke.  
  
Under the plastic was a layer of paper and under the paper a cloth bag. I undid the neck of the bag  
and spilled the contents onto the paper. Diamonds, hundreds of them, poured out. All rough cut. All  
different sizes. The biggest was the size of my pinky nail, around three carats. And there were at  
least a dozen of those statuettes in the safe.  
  
Jackpot indeed.  
  
  
  
Things went just fine from there. Claire showed and I got my shot of counteragent in plenty of  
time. We stuck around for a bit just to make sure all the loose ends were tied up.  
  
Dara came out at one point and, after staring at me for a long moment, came over. She handed me a  
video tape.  
  
"Halder had the system recording. I think there was a malfunction. Or there will be. I'd recommend  
destroying that when you get the chance." She walked away, smiling to herself.  
  
"What's on the tape?" Hobbes asked watching her walk away.  
  
"Let's find out shall we?" So we went over to my place, picking up something to eat on the way.  
  
I popped the tape in the machine and watched the empty warehouse for a bit.  
  
"How exciting. Fast forward would you." Hobbes said around a mouthful of calzone.   
  
"Yeah." I set down my salad and picked up the remote. I noticed the time code in the bottom corner  
of the screen watched the numbers creep towards the time we had arrived. Halder zipped across the  
screen and I suddenly realized what the camera had recorded. "Ah, shit." I returned the tape to  
normal speed.  
  
"What?" Hobbes asked.  
  
"Watch." I pointed at the screen where I had just appeared. There was no sound, so it was a bit  
comical when I dove to the ground and disappeared.  
  
"Ah, shit," Hobbes said in agreement. "Do we tell the Fat Man?"  
  
"Do we need to? She did give us the tape." I turned the VCR off, and the TV as well.  
  
Hobbes nodded. "Yeah, she's okay."  
  
"And us, are we okay? I screwed up, I admit it, but..."  
  
He interrupted me. "Just don't make a habit of it. The Fat Man has a hard enough time dealing with  
my idiosyncrasies without having to add all of yours into the mix." Hobbes took another bite of  
his calzone. "It ain't all bad is it? You did a good thing for that kid."  
  
I just ducked my head a bit and poked at a lettuce leaf. "Too bad no one did that for me." I  
mumbled it but he heard me anyway.  
  
"But then you wouldn't be where you are now." He got this funny look on his face when he realized  
exactly what he had said. "Oh."  
  
Yeah, oh. That pretty much summed it up for me.  
  
  
  
I know all of you are asking 'what the hell were you trying to steal in the first place?' It's  
just going to sound silly to all of you, but two weeks later, when they finally had the auction for  
those items, I was sitting there waiting for lot number twenty-three. It cost a hundred and twenty  
bucks, but it was worth it to me.  
  
Value isn't always monetary.  
  
I know, it was just one small volume in a pile of dusty old books. But to me, it was a connection  
to my past. A past I had been thinking about a lot lately.  
  
It was first edition of poetry. "The Complete Poems", by Emily Dickinson. Published in 1924.  
  
I can hear every one of you groaning. 'All this for a book of poems?'  
  
Well, yeah. You see, it's one of the few things I really remember. She used to read them to me.  
Poetry, by all the best. Kipling, Frost, Longfellow, Dickinson.  
  
Trying to get me started off right.  
  
Oh, you want to know who?  
  
Simple -- my mom.  
  
Happy Mother's Day.  
  
  
  
"God gave us memory that we might have roses in December." -James M. Barrie  
  
  
  
Finis  
  



End file.
